


forever is a long time, babe, but we’ve got today

by emperor_bell



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Foster Care, Kid Fic, its gonna be frickin cute in time I promise, jake and amy become foster parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-10 19:32:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13508292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emperor_bell/pseuds/emperor_bell
Summary: He was talking a mile a minute and it took her a second of open-mouthed staring to catch up with what he’d said, and still she stammered for a response. “Jake,” she said finally, “what are you saying?”His gaze dropped to his lap, where he was wringing his hands on top of furiously bouncing legs. He let out a long breath and planted his feet on the floor, and when he looked back at her, his expression was stone cold serious. “Have you ever thought about foster care?”She hadn’t. But, as it turned out, he had.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been working on this since literally August and it’s going to have at least 3 parts, but this part is significantly shorter than I thought it would be so I might break it up into more as I get more written. 
> 
> This fic is a thinly veiled excuse to write jake being cute with kids, so you’ll see a lot of that later on.

 

She’s sitting at their kitchen table next to her husband and across from a polished woman with her hair neatly pulled back and a kind smile. They’d been having a lovely conversation so far, tossing around stories about Jake with his god-kids and him ducking his head shyly in a way she doesn’t see often. The warm afternoon sun is shining through the window, bathing the room in natural light. It’s the picture of a perfect afternoon. And Amy has never been more scared in her life.

She’s been on countless stakeouts for dangerous criminals, been held at gunpoint, and spent weeks undercover in a high-security prison. She’s been risking her life for years and has come out stronger because of it. But this is a whole new kind of scary. The woman sitting at their kitchen table is a social worker, and here they are, discussing the potential for them to have kids in their home. Kids with broken pasts and broken hearts, coming to them to be cared for for however long a judge deems appropriate.

Foster care isn’t something she’s ever considered. It was so far outside her radar she couldn’t even see it, and it certainly didn’t make it in her grand plan life calendar. But as much as she loves planning and knowing exactly when and where and how things will happen, sometimes they just do, and this time it just happened.

-

The conversation had started six weeks earlier, and oddly enough, they’d been at the site of a drug bust. The perp was suspected to play a role in a bigger investigation they were involved in so they were taking stock of the situation and getting the run down from the cop from a neighboring precinct.

Amy was taking detailed notes of what Detective Rogers was saying; Jake was standing next to her staring in the opposite direction. It wasn’t uncommon for Jake to tune out in a situation like this; he knew Amy was a meticulous note-taker so he’d have all the information he needed in writing the next day. But on this particular day it was something different. Amy could practically feel the nervous energy hitting her from where he was standing. Her eyes followed Jake’s gaze to the corner of the room, where a little girl with dark hair was leaning against the wall clutching a ratty blue blanket. Her pen faltered for only a split-second, causing nothing more than a smudge in her otherwise still perfect notes. Even still, Jake noticed the slip, and he turned his attention back to the detective in front of them. It wasn’t hard to tell his mind was still far away.

“Any other questions?” Rogers asked, as the briefing concluded. Just as Amy started to shake her head, Jake cleared his throat, “Um, just one, and it’s no big thang, just curious is all, the kid over there, who’s that, who’s the kid?”

Rogers raised his eyebrows and glanced behind him at the little girl. “She’s the perp’s daughter. She was in the house when it was busted. Can hardly get a word out of her.”

“Big surprise,” Jake muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, not a thing.”

“Well, if that’s all,” Rogers said, closing the file and handing it to Amy, “I’ll be going then. Feel free to keep looking around and let me know if you have any other questions.” With one last nod, he turned and walked off.

Amy opened the folder, feigning interest in the contents, but her focus was on her husband. Jake took a few steps away, briefly acting as though he was inspecting a scratch in the wallpaper. Before she could consider saying something, he was walking in the direction of the little girl.

The girl watched with wary eyes as he came closer. He approached her cautiously, as one would approach a wounded animal. He was still several feet from her when his foot caught on the floorboard and he flailed his arms, barely catching himself before he hit the ground. At least, that’s what it looked like happened, but Amy knew this bit. It made Nikolaj laugh every time, and there was a glimmer of a barely-there smile on the little girl’s face now.

Jake raised himself up into a crouch, dramatically dusting himself off. “I’m such a klutz,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh, I didn’t even see you there,” Jake said, now just around eye level with the girl. “I bet you don’t trip like that, do you?”

A shake of her head, miniscule, but there.

“I’m Detective Peralta, but all my friends call me Jake. We could be friends too. What’s your name?”

Blank stare.

“Alright, cool cool cool, don’t have to be friends, your call. I like your blanket though; I had one like that when I was little, isn’t that neat?”

Amy could practically see it, the little blanket still shoved in the back of their closet. It was a darker blue and it had his name stitched in the corner, but akin to to the blanket the little girl was holding in its ratty nature and holes in the corners. This comment got a little head tilt out of the girl, and Jake seemed to take that as a good sign, continuing on, “I still have it now, actually. That blanket got me through some hard times. I bet yours does the same thing.”

He smiled, moving to stand up. But before he could turn around, she looked up. “Ella,” she said, her eyes locking with Jake’s.

“It’s been very nice to meet you, Ella.” And with that, Ella’s eyes were trained back on the floor.

Jake turned and walked back to her, a sad smile set on his face.

A week later Amy had hardly heard Jake talk about anything else since. Jake had gotten hung up on things before, but it usually had more to do with when Taylor Swift would drop her next single. Not something this serious - this was big, and it didn’t seem to be going away.

It wasn’t as though Amy wasn’t worried about the little girl too - deep sad eyes like that were hard to get out of your head - but they were cops; looking out for displaced kids wasn’t in their job description. Better to leave that to the professionals, at least that’s what she kept telling herself.

And the next day when they’re watching Die Hard on the couch, she told herself that it was to get _Jake’s_ mind off the situation.

She’d never seen him so distracted during his favorite movie, he kept tapping his fingers on his leg and looking away from the screen. He _never_ looks away from the screen during Die Hard. He insists he notices something new every time he watches it, and usually he makes her warn him if she needs to use the bathroom so he can pause it before she walks in front of the screen. But on that particular day, it’s clear his mind is somewhere else entirely.

He only managed twenty-three minutes of fidgety silence before he picked up the remote and hit pause on the movie. “Listen, Ames, I know logically there’s nothing we can do to help Ella, but -” he took a deep breath, allowing her only a moment for her heart to ache at the familiarity with which he says her name, “I can’t stop thinking about how many kids there are out there like her. I mean really, can you imagine? This city is a stinkhole of crime, seriously, people are awful. And I guess I’ve just never thought about it before how often there has to be kids involved, and where do they go? What happens to them? Shouldn’t we do _something_?”

He was talking a mile a minute and it took her a second of open-mouthed staring to catch up with what he’d said, and still she stammered for a response. “Jake,” she said finally, “what are you saying?”

His gaze dropped to his lap, where he was wringing his hands on top of furiously bouncing legs. He let out a long breath and planted his feet on the floor, and when he looked back at her, his expression was stone cold serious. “Have you ever thought about foster care?”

She hadn’t. But, as it turned out, he had. At length. Within minutes he had a dozen links pulled up on his phone with articles about foster kids and the statistics, both in Brooklyn and across the country. He talked at length about everything he’d read - Jake, who gets bored reading Buzzfeed articles if there aren’t a sufficient number of accompanying pictures, had read every word of countless articles ranging from the emotional toll on a child to what specific steps they’d have to take to get licensed in Brooklyn. He was so prepared for this conversation, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gone full Santiago-style and there was a binder hidden around here somewhere.

The conversation lasted hours after that, she had plenty of counter points to his well planned presentation about why they just _couldn’t_ do this, but not only had he come prepared with facts, he was talking with a passion she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard from him. So in the end, although she told him that she’d have to think about it and then they’d talk more, they both knew he’d broken down her walls.

Before she knew it, they were filling out applications.

And all that led to here, this moment in their kitchen. Sitting with her legs crossed, one hand holding a pen hovering over her notebook, (“Amy,” the social worker had said when she first pulled it out, “you don’t have to take notes.” “It’s best if you just don’t question it” was Jake’s quick response) the other hand tightly grasping her husband’s.

“Well, I think it’s time we discuss the elephant in the room,” Helen, their social worker says.

Amy’s breath catches. She looks at Jake bordering on panic and he squeezes her hand reassuringly. “And what’s that, Helen?” He asks.

“The issue of you going to prison for two months, Mr. Peralta.”

“Now wait a minute,” Amy starts, already feeling her blood pressure starts to rise, “that’s not the whole story, and you really should have more facts before you come in here and-”

“Ames!” Jake interrupts her, his other hand coming to cover their joined ones, and like every time he looks her in the eyes, for a brief second only the two of them are in the room, “It’s okay, babe. I got this.”

She nods, and Jake turns back to Helen, “Yes, I did in fact spend eight weeks in prison. My friend Rosa and I were undercover trying to take down a dirty cop and the operation went south. We were framed for some pretty major stuff, but in the end Hawkins, aforementioned dirty cop, was caught and Rosa and I were declared innocent. So that’s the story of the time I did hard time.”

Jake smiles and Helen nods. Logically speaking, Amy knows she must already know these things, but she has a tendency to get automatically defensive when people bring up prison.

“Justice seeker, I like that,” Helen says, scribbling something in her folder, “these kids need that.”

Jake smiles, he’d been called a hero before for the operation that had landed him in prison, but it was still a heavy subject that not everyone spoke fondly of, which was part of the reason Amy tended to jump to the defense. But it seemed that it only strengthened their social worker’s impression of them.

“Well,” Helen says in a tone of finality, “this meeting has gone wonderfully, you two are just the sort of people we need. You’ve seen firsthand the places and experiences these kids come from and thankfully that seems to have grown a sense of compassion rather than coldness. Kids in the system have been through a lot, and I think you guys can really help them grow past it. I can guarantee that you will be getting a stellar report from me.”

Instinctively, Amy turns to look at Jake. His expression is pure joy and she can feel it rubbing off on her. Throughout the whole process, she’s been much more wary of whether they should be doing this, but Jake has never once faltered. And now, seeing how thrilled and excited her husband is, she finds those same feelings coming to the surface for her. Maybe not in the most traditional sense, but before long she and Jake would be parents. Shaping young minds and all that, together. There’s definitely something thrilling about that.

“Thank you so much,” she hears herself saying, and her voice betrays the excitement she’d managed to keep at bay. Are there tears in her eyes? She looks at Jake again just as he turns and meets her gaze, finding her own watery-eyed smile mirrored back at her. This was really happening.

Helen is still smiling warmly at them when she speaks again, “Now,” she said, “there is something else I was hoping to discuss with you.”

Jake’s eyes went wide, “What? Is something wrong? You just said we were getting a stellar review, aren’t we still getting a stellar review? Did we do something wrong? Was it because I said orange soda is my favorite food? Because I promise we’ll feed children much more nutritious meals.”

Helen laughs, “No no, nothing like that. I’m fully confident any child in your home won’t be living on orange soda.”

Jake lets out a breath of relief, and she continues, “Actually, it’s about a little girl.”

Amy and Jake exchange glances, knowing exactly what the other was thinking. All of this was about a little girl.

“A few weeks ago I was informed that a Detective Peralta seemed especially interested in a little girl whose case I’m in charge of, had even asked to be informed of what happened to her.”

Amy glances at Jake who had ducked his head, though she noticed the tips of his ears had turned red - she didn’t know that part. Although it doesn’t really surprise her either.

“I thought it was interesting that a cop had taken note of a child, and even made a note to get in contact with said cop after we’d found a long term placement for the girl. So imagine my surprise when I got word that a Mr. Jake Peralta had applied with his wife to be foster parents. Am I correct in assuming these two events are in some way related?”

“In a way, yes,” Jake says slowly, “Ella, the girl, I-I mean, she just really got me thinking you know? We do this kind of thing all the time, how often are kids getting wrapped up in it? That’s all.”

Helen nods, there’s a look in her eyes that says she knows there’s more to it than that. They all do. “Well,” she continues, “since I’m here, and since you did ask; Ella is currently in a temporary foster home. The placement was supposed to be on a long-term basis, but she hasn’t exactly been an easy case, more than her current foster family thought they could handle certainly. Because of the reports we’re getting back, the agency is looking into moving her to a group home. Personally, I believe she will do much better with someone who is willing to put in the extra effort to convince her to trust them. Before I go on, Jake, how did you know her name? I don’t remember there being anyone there that day qualified to give you information about her.”

“I-uh, I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to know. She, uh, she told me?” Jake was stammering, trying to get his answer right in an uncertain situation.

Helen raises her eyebrows, looking impressed. “Jake, if you got her to tell you her name, then you managed to get more pleasant interaction out of her in five minutes than her current foster family has in five weeks. Now, normally I wouldn’t do this, but this is a unique situation.” She reaches into the bag by her chair and pulls out a manila folder. There were several different papers sticking out the sides, but it wasn’t overly thick and there was nothing written on it to indicate what was inside.

The social worker takes a deep breath, like even she isn’t 100% sure about what she’s doing, then hands the folder to Amy. She opens it, Jake leaning over her shoulder to see the contents. The first page is a report dated back to the day of the drug bust. On the page is a grainy picture of a scared little girl with dark hair and dark, scared eyes, and at the top of the page is a name: Ella Spearing.

Spearing is a name she recognizes, it was the name all over the arrest reports from the same day. It was startling to see it attached to such an innocent little girl.

“As I’m sure the two of you already know, Ella’s mother was sentenced to twenty years to life for being a repeat offender. Her father has so far been untraceable, and her mother had been estranged from her family for so long that none of them even knew she _had_ a daughter, and they don’t want anything to do with her.” She shook her head, “It’s hard to believe that they would hold the actions of her mother against her, but that’s the situation we’re in right now.”

Jake looks up from the file Amy is holding with an almost baffled look on his face, “Wait, the perp was a woman? I mean, I knew that. We knew that right?”

He looks at Amy and she almost laughs at the absurdity in an otherwise very serious conversation, “Yes, Jake, we knew that.”

“Right, yeah,” he continues, despite her exasperated looks begging him to stop, “I mean, not that women can’t commit crimes, women can totally sell drugs! I mean, that’s not what I meant. It was just a really large scale network and I wouldn’t normally expect - I mean - huh. It was a woman, interesting. Anyway go on.”

Amy and the social worker both stare at Jake for a long time before Amy shakes her head, much more well practiced in moving past his word vomit.

“ _Anyway_ ,” she says, “why are you telling us this? We’re not even licensed yet.”

Helen, who still looks a little taken aback by Jake stating confidently that women can sell drugs, finally turns and addresses Amy, “I would be willing to push for an exception to be made. If you two were willing to foster Ella on what could potentially be a long term basis, I would talk to the agency about expediting your licensing process. Now, like I said, she hasn’t exactly been easy, so I don’t need or expect an answer today, but because of the sensitive and somewhat urgent nature of her case, I would need an answer - whether yes or no - by the end of the week. I encourage you to look over her file and determine whether you think you’re ready. Or, if you don’t think so, I can take it now and rest assured, you will still get your stellar report.”

“We’ll keep the file,” says Jake quickly, “and get back to you as soon as we’ve reached a decision.”

“Wonderful.” Helen stands up from her seat, “Well I won’t keep you any longer, it’s been great meeting with you two, and I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

Jake and Amy both stand up, shaking hands with the social worker and saying their own goodbyes. It’s only when their front door closes behind her that they look back at each other.

“That went… well,” Amy says, still trying to process everything that had been said.

“Yes I guess it did,” Jake says shakily. He’s already walking back to their kitchen table and picking up the file Amy had left sitting there.

“Guess we better read this,” He looks up at her and she nods.

“Guess so.”

They both stand there staring at each other and back at the folder for an indeterminate amount of time, then Jake opens the folder and they both sit back down at their kitchen table and start reading.

The first things they learn are basic information: She’s four years old, no siblings, she has no record of ever being part of a daycare or preschool. Other things they already knew or had been told about her mother and extended family. It made Amy’s blood boil a little that not one of her blood relatives were willing to take her, but she pushes that aside for now.

The reports from her foster family are less than glamorous; Helen wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t pretty. If they did this, it wouldn’t be easy. They’d be signing up to bring a child into their home who didn’t want to be there, and certainly wouldn’t want to trust them.

The reality was though, that now that they knew about her, it was nearly impossible for them to say no. Amy knew Jake would never be able to live not knowing what became of this little girl, and she had to admit that it would eat her alive.

They read the whole thing front to back and then they talk for hours about what it would mean for them and their lives and whether they could handle it.

Despite the extra three days between now and when they had to give an answer, their decision was made by the end of the night. The next day, Amy sends an email; through a string of formalities and official and professional sounding phrases, it translates to _“We’ll do it, we’ll take her.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand we’re back! it’s only been like 2 weeks lol but i’m really excited for everyone to read this chapter i really love it. and ella. please love ella she is my child. 
> 
> come squeal with me on tumblr @captamysantiago

The necessary conversations have been had, the paperwork has been filed, and a move in date has been set. As much as Amy, with her love of planning and having details ironed out beforehand, would’ve loved more time to prepare, instead they’re looking at twelve days between when their email was sent and when they would have a four year old living in their guest bedroom.

It actually would’ve been sooner had they already been licensed, and even now the foster care agency is making a fairly considerable exception by expediting the process for them. Although she doesn’t want it to take any longer than necessary, Amy can’t help but be grateful for the few extra days.

It’s Saturday, t-minus nine days before Ella moves in, and Jake and Amy have spent the day shopping. They’ve been to so many stores today that she’s lost track of the number, but they had a lot to do to turn their extra room into a room designed for a child.

They already had furniture from Amy’s bedroom set from when she was younger, but they had to buy everything from sheets and blankets to decorative wall art and a princess castle dollhouse that they didn’t really need, but neither of them could resist.

They’re sitting on the floor in what will be Ella’s room, with brand new sheets on her bed and cheesy quote art hanging on the walls. Now they’re just trying to figure out how to put this dang dollhouse together.

“Maybe we should just call Charles,” Amy laughs the fifth time pieces that look like they should go together don’t.

“No.” Jake snatches the screwdriver from the ground, picking up new pieces. “We can figure this out ourselves.”

His determination is evident in his voice, so much so that she keeps quiet through another hour of his frustrated cursing over unclear instructions and pieces that all look the same.

It’s getting late now and she can feel his frustration; it’s coming off of him in waves.

“Babe, why don’t we just go to bed and try again in the morning,” she tries, reaching out to rest her hand on his arm.

“I can’t do it.”

His voice shakes with an intensity entirely disproportionate to the situation, and when he meets her eyes, his are misty with unshed tears.

“It’s just a dollhouse, Jake,” she whispers, but they both know it’s not true. That it’s something more than that.

“Not just the dollhouse. All of this. What if I can’t do this? I know—I know it was all my idea and I dragged you into this, but what if I’m in way over my head?”

“Where is this all coming from?” She moves closer to him, wrapping his hand in both of hers.

“I don’t know, I guess it’s just all hitting me all at once that this is really happening. And what was I thinking? I can’t be a dad; I eat gummy worms for breakfast and I don’t drink enough water and you know I have no impulse control. We have a quesadilla maker shaped like a death star to prove that. And,” his voice cracks in a way that makes her heart ache, “and it’s not like I have much to go on—my dad sucked. He was never there for me, even before he left. What if I suck at being a dad too? Because of him—god, what if he ruins this for me too?”

His shoulders are shaking and his gaze is trained on the floor in front of him. With shaking hands, he reaches for the screwdriver he’d abandoned on the floor. She reaches it before him, grabbing it and tucking it behind her back.

“Jake.” His shoulders slump and his head drops against her shoulder.

“What if I can’t do this?”

“Jake,” she repeats, twisting her body to take his face in her hands. “Jake, look at me.”

Finally, he lifts his head and his eyes meet hers. There are tears on his cheeks and her eyes are burning with unshed ones of her own, but she fights to keep them at bay for him.

“Jake, you are the strongest, bravest, kindest person I’ve ever known. And I love that you can be silly and a little childish sometimes. That’s why Nikolaj loves you so much, and that’s how you got Ella to talk to you in the first place. You’re caring and thoughtful and you’re an amazing husband and an amazing friend to everyone you know. Those are all things I’d want a child to learn and grow into, and you’ll be able to teach them that better than anyone.”

He shakes his head and she moves one hand from his face to grab onto his hand, squeezing it and hoping her grip can somehow will him to believe in himself as much as she believes in him.

“What if that’s still not enough?” His voice is a little clearer now, which is a good sign. She smiles and brushes her thumb across his cheek. He leans into her touch, seemingly unconsciously, and without thinking she brushes a kiss against his cheek before she starts talking again.

“Then we’re in this together, babe. You won’t be alone; we’ll figure all of this out as we go. Together.”

His lips twitch up. “So you don’t think my dad ruined me? Abandonment problems and all that.”

“You’re amazing, abandonment problems and all. Screw your dad.”

She knows how it sounds. It’s stupid and immature, and just the kind of bait she has no doubt he’ll take.

“Amy,” he says, his face twisting in mock-disgust, just as she anticipated, “gross.”

Despite the fact that she set up the joke, she still can’t help but break into a laugh and he laughs with her. The tears that had been just at the brink of her eyelids manage to slip out, and they’re both still smiling as he reaches out and swipes his thumb across her cheeks.

“We can do this,” he says, and her smile grows.

“Damn right we can.”

Not the dollhouse, though. That they call Charles for, and the next day he helps them fix their mistakes and get the dang thing put together. All while squealing excitedly about how his best friend’s gonna be a dad and Ella and Nikolaj can be best friends and Jake and Amy have to remind him not to get too far ahead of himself.

 

* * *

 

 The following Friday is Jake and Amy’s last day at the precinct before Ella moves in, and the place is downright _buzzing_. People Amy has hardly spoken to keep coming up to their joined desks to congratulate them, and she’s half convinced that Charles had gotten a hold of her address list and sent out whatever the indefinite-care-of-a-four-year-old version of a birth announcement is.

In addition to the frequent visitors, they’re the subject of every other conversation overheard in the break room. Apparently there’s a betting pool going on over whether Nikolaj or Ava will be Ella’s best friend—Gina insists that everyone is wrong and Iggy will be her favorite, despite being less than two years old. And as if that’s not enough, everyone already seems to be competing for best “aunt”/”uncle”. Ella has had enough toys and clothes gifted to her in the last week to last years, and none of the gifters have even met her yet.

Amy is thrilled that everyone is so excited for them, she really is, but she’s jittery enough without the help of the constant chatter. She’s so distracted that she _almost_ puts a comma where she should’ve used a semicolon in an arrest report. She audibly gasps at her own thoughtlessness and Jake just smiles and rolls his eyes in that irritatingly fond way he does, but despite his best efforts to hide it, his nerves aren’t faring much better.

He keeps tapping his foot under his desk at a pace that would drive her mad under any other circumstances, and he’s eaten three bags of skittles since they got to work this morning. Which wouldn’t be out of the ordinary except that they were all sour skittles, which Jake has referred to as “an abomination and an insult to the taste of the rainbow” on multiple occasions. He keeps scrunching up his nose every time he eats them. She’s not sure he’s actually noticed.

They’re a mess, the two of them. But every now and then they’ll both look up at just the same time to make eye contact and grin at each other because despite their apprehension, they’re also practically giddy.

“Amy, Holt wants you in his office,” Gina calls from her desk, not bothering to look up from her phone.

“Oh,” Amy says, already standing up. “Did he say why?”

Gina shrugs. “You’re probably in big trouble or something, IDK.”

Amy rolls her eyes. Honestly, she should’ve known better than to even ask.

She knocks twice on Holt’s door before she hears his voice telling her to come in, and she steps inside.

“Santiago,” Holt greets, setting down the paper he’s holding, “excellent, there’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

“What’s up?” she says before cringing outwardly. “I’m sorry Captain, it’s kind of a crazy day; what did you want to discuss?”

“No need to apologize, I understand you’re under a lot of extra stress at the moment, what with the impending arrival of a child in your otherwise childless home… well, unless you count Peralta.”

Amy cracks a smile and shrugs. “It’s a lot to process and prepare for, but we’re handling it as well as can be expected.”

“Well, knowing you, Santiago, I’m sure you’ve completed all the necessary preparations. I admit that it surprised me somewhat that you hadn’t thought to ask for time off when the child arrives.”

Amy pales, her smile faltering. Did Captain Holt think she couldn’t handle being a working parent? He’d seemed excited for them when they’d told everyone. He’d shaken their hands and everything! Oh god, if he didn’t think so then it must be true—who knew her work abilities better than he?

Holt speaks again just before Amy’s thoughts spiral out of control. “I just assumed you would need some time to adjust to a new routine and establish childcare for - my apologies, Emma was it?”

“Ella,” Amy squeaks, her mind racing down an entirely different path now, “and you’re right Captain, I haven’t even looked into a daycare yet! I’ve been so focused on getting everything ready at home, I hadn’t had time to think past her moving in. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get into a decent daycare on such short notice?”

“I… cannot say that I do,” the Captain says slowly.

“Neither do I! Oh God, what do I do? We’re not ready for this. What else did I forget? Oh God, oh God—”

“Santiago.” Holt cuts off her panicked rambling, and she stops, straightening and returning her full attention to her commanding officer.

“I’m sorry, sir. This isn’t any of your concern; you said you wanted to speak with me about something?”

“On the contrary, I want to do whatever I can to assist you and Peralta right now. In fact, I would like to offer you a maternity leave of sorts. Of course, since Ella—” he pauses, looking to her for confirmation and she nods, “is coming under more unconventional circumstances, I cannot offer you the full twelve weeks that Gina had when her baby was born. But in order to help you get adjusted, I can offer you six weeks off. And, if you’re interested of course, I would be willing to give Jake a few extra days off next week. We can’t afford to lose our two best detectives any longer than that, I’m afraid.”

Amy’s heart soars, both from the Captain’s implied praise and this realization that she’ll have time to get everything in order before she has to return to work. A part of her aches at the thought of being away from work and the precinct for six weeks, but she’s still incredibly grateful for the time to work everything out.

“Captain, that’s amazing. Thank you so much. It means everything that you went to so much trouble to help us.”

Holt waves off her gushing, but he leans back in his chair and she thinks she sees the corners of his mouth turn up. It’s a miniscule amount; anyone who hadn’t been as invested in the Captain’s every move as she has wouldn’t have noticed. But Amy does, and she’s over the moon at the thought that he could be almost as excited about this change in their life as she and Jake are.

“If that’s all,” Amy starts, still beaming, “I really should go talk to Jake about all this.”

“Yes of course, you’re dismissed.”

Amy nods, turning to leave, slightly more bounce in her step than there was when she entered the office.

“Oh, and Santiago,” Amy pauses, hand on the doorknob, turning back to look at the Captain, “Congratulations,” he says sincerely, “to you and Peralta both. I cannot think of two individuals better suited to handle this challenge.”

“I—thank you, sir,” Amy says around the lump that has quickly formed in her throat. Holt nods, and she slips out the door, eyes shining with happy tears.

 

* * *

 

The weekend comes and goes in a flurry of last minute preparations and speed cleaning everything in their house that wasn’t already spotless. In a way this is more for their own benefit than Ella’s; Amy doesn’t want the social worker who drops her off to think they’re _animals_. But it also gives them a way to keep their hands busy and fill the empty space while they wait. So deep cleaning the tea kettle and scrubbing the cabinet pulls until they shine it is.

Sunday night she lies in bed next to her husband. The social worker is set to drop Ella off at nine AM the next day, so they’d opted to go to bed early. But her mind is racing too fast to keep up, let alone sleep.

“What are you thinking, Ames?” Jake asks, voice soft in the dark of their room. She’d known he wasn’t sleeping, his breathing too inconsistent next to her, so his voice doesn’t startle her. Even so, she takes a moment to answer.

“Everything is changing tomorrow,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Like if she speaks any louder it could break the soft spell they’re wrapped in.

He pauses, turning onto his side to look at her. “Not everything.”

She turns too, mirroring his position, and gives him a pointed look.

“No, really,” he insists. “Like… you’ll still be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She smiles in the dark. Despite the fact that they’ve been together over four years and married for more than a year and a half of that, she still can’t help the butterflies in her stomach every time he talks like that. In the dark of night, when it’s just the two of them and his words are for her and her alone.

“And,” he continues, his smirk evident even in the dim light, “I’ll still be the sexiest man in the universe—”

She snorts, cutting him off. “There it is,” she laughs, and he grins at her. The kind of lovestruck dopey grin that makes her heart swoon.

“I mean really,” he says, spurred on by her laughter, “all the important things remain the same.”

She’s giggling into her pillow now, all her nervous and anxious energy channeled into this ridiculous conversation.

“I don’t get why you’re laughing, Amy, I’m trying to be sincere here.” He attempts a serious expression, but it only sets her off even more.

He laughs too, and reaches across the space to pull her against him. She laughs into his chest and his own rumbles against her ear, his grin buried in her hair.

_He makes me laugh._

The words from what seems like a lifetime ago echo in her mind now as her husband wraps his arms around her to hug her even closer. Her laughs taper off as she finds comfort in his arms, but still she’s reminded of the reason she gave years ago that rings true even today.

He makes her laugh when a case runs longer than she wants it to and it seems like the answer must be right in front of her, when she’s right on the verge of giving up. He makes her laugh when the exciting life she signed up for as a cop is dull and she has to spend the whole day filing paperwork (which gets tedious even when you love paperwork as much as Amy does). Because of him, she laughs even when it’s been a long day or when she doesn’t feel like getting out of bed and even when they’re falling asleep at night. Because of him, she can laugh now, because even with the enormity of the changes taking place in only a few hours, he still knows just what to say to settle her nerves and get her giggling instead of panicking. He always does.

“All the important things stay the same,” he repeats, and though the happiness of his laughter lingers, his voice is softer now, enveloping her in his love. “We still have our friends and they’re so excited it’s almost annoying.” He pauses, no doubt remembering the smiles on their friends faces the last time they saw them, wishing them luck as they left work on Friday. “We still have our families, nutcases as they may be. And, most _importantly_ , we still have each other, and I can’t speak for you, but I’ll never stop loving you.”

She pulls back, even though all she wants is to get even closer to him, so she can look him in the eye. “I’ll never stop loving you either.”

She kisses him—firmly and leaving no room for doubt. The words left unspoken are communicated through her lips on his, through her hands in his hair and his arms still wrapped tightly around her waist. _“As long as we have each other, we’ll be just fine.”_

 

* * *

 

As much preparation and anticipation went into this day, their foster daughter’s arrival comes with very little fanfare.

The social worker arrives at 9:02 am (not that Amy noticed when their agreed upon time came and went, of course) with a small, dark haired girl trailing behind her when Jake invites them inside.

Ella has her head down, her long hair falling in a curtain in front of her face. In her right hand is the blanket she’d been holding the day they met her, and in her left she’s clutching a big black trash bag. Amy’s heart constricts in her chest—she’d heard people say in the training course they’d gone to that foster children normally have to keep their belongings in a trash bag, but it’s a whole other feeling to actually see this little girl who is moving into their home with everything she has stuffed in a plastic bag. She tucks a mental note into the back of her mind to buy her a suitcase right away.

The social worker makes brief small talk, waving off their offers of tea or coffee. She smiles and kneels down to talk to Ella in a chipper voice about how exciting it all is, and when she stands up again she’s already edging towards the door.

“Well, I’ll leave you all to get acquainted. Please don’t hesitate to call Helen or I if you need anything.”

“Thank you so much, so nice to meet you,” Amy says, mimicking her polite smile and following her to the front door to see her out.

“The both of you as well.” Then, in a lower voice, “she didn’t say anything on the car ride over here. She’s obviously scared, so give her time. Hopefully she’ll open up to the two of you more.” She casts one last sad smile over her shoulder at the girl in question before she disappears out the door.

Amy sighs. Even these people with the very best intentions aren’t giving her high hopes for the days to come.

“Hey,” she says, coming back to stand next to Jake.

“Hey there,” he says in a bright voice, trying to compensate for the tense atmosphere, “I was just thinking we ought to show Ella her new room! How does that sound?” He directs the question at Ella, and she merely glances up at him through her hair.

“I think that’s a great idea!” she says, trying to match her husband’s tone. “C’mon, it’s this way.”

She and Jake start to walk in the direction of Ella’s bedroom, and she follows quietly.

“You ready?” Amy questions as they reach the door, despite not really expecting an answer. “Ta da!” she exclaims as she swings the door open.

Ella walks in ahead of them, silently taking in the room. Her gaze catches briefly on the dollhouse before she steps forward and perches on the edge of her bed. She drops the bag of her belongings on the floor by her feet and clutches the blanket with both hands.

She looks so small and frail sitting there gripping the ratty blanket. Amy fights to keep her tears at bay so as not to scare Ella more, but it _hurts_ her in a way she’s never known before to see this little girl hurting so badly. The urge to wrap her up and protect her from the world comes hard and fast, much more quickly than she had anticipated.

“Do you want to put your clothes away in your new dresser?” Jake asks Ella, gesturing to the piece of furniture against the opposite wall. She doesn’t so much as nod, but she does set her blanket down, standing up and dragging the bag across the floor.

She sits daintily, cross-legged on the floor, and begins pulling her clothes from the bag. They’re still partially folded from where they must have been when they went in the bag, but have since been tossed about. She pulls the articles of clothing out one at a time, re-folding them and sorting them all into individual piles. Amy can’t help but feel a little tingle of admiration for the way this four year old is meticulously organizing everything in the bag. There’s a mirrored tinge of excitement that there may be at least one thing she can bond with her foster daughter over.

They help her put her clothes away in the drawers and point out some of the things already inside that had been purchased or gifted prior to her arrival. She sets the clothes she brought in separate piles from the ones already in the drawers, and Amy tries not to read too far into it. (She fails. She knows Ella just got here, but it still stings a little that she’s so clearly separating herself from them. Her life from theirs. What her life was from what it is now.)

The rest of the morning follows a similar pattern; the most responses they get her from her are little nods where she doesn’t quite meet their eyes. They show her pictures on their phones of their friends and families and she looks and watches the videos of their coworkers goofing off, but without much of a reaction. She perks up only slightly at a picture of Cheddar, and Amy has to remind herself that they do _not_ need a dog right now.

She nods that yes, she is hungry, and Amy makes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, figuring it’s a decent kid pleaser. Ella sits at the table and eats, putting her plate away in the sink afterward before disappearing back to her room.

They find her standing at the base of the bookshelf, inspecting some of the little knick knacks and books they’d arranged in the last few weeks. They hover for a moment before moving away to give her a little space while she settles in.

Jake sits on the couch in the living room, distracted by a game on his phone, and Amy busies herself cleaning up what little mess there is in the kitchen. By the time she’s picked up the glasses and wiped down the counters and drifted back to Ella’s doorway, she finds her fast asleep—curled up like a cat on top of the covers.

Amy picks up the throw blanket folded at the foot of Ella’s bed and drapes it over her, tucking it around her little shoulders. She allows herself only a moment to stare at Ella, so peaceful she looks almost angelic in sleep.

She tiptoes out of Ella’s room and makes her way back to the couch in the living room, sitting down next to her husband and bringing her knees up to her chest. She slips her bare feet beneath his legs and he scowls playfully down at her.

“Your feet are cold,” he says.

“Mm,” she hums, “and your legs are warm.”

He rolls his eyes fondly and turns off whatever game he’d been playing. He glances over his shoulder at Ella’s bedroom door and turns back with a questioning look on his face.

“She’s asleep,” she says in a hushed voice, and he nods.

“Quite the day already, huh?”

“You can say that again.”

“Quite the day already,” he mumbles, and she lets out a breathy laugh. It’s a dumb joke, but at this point it’s almost worth saying twice.

They don’t talk about the important things yet. They sit on the couch and answer “good luck!” and “how’s it going?” texts from their friends and laugh at Charles updating them on what they’ve missed as if they’ve been away from the precinct for more than a day and a half.

They do talk, about things like what they need to pick up from the store and what movies they need to make sure she’s seen, (The Princess Bride makes the top of the list and Amy manages to talk him down from showing her Die Hard _anytime_ soon.) but things like how they’re feeling or how to deal with that in the coming days and weeks? Those can wait for a time that feels less fragile.

It’s a couple hours later when they hear her stirring. Jake stands, reaching down to take Amy’s hand and pull him up after her. He holds onto her hand as they make their way across the floor back to Ella’s doorway.

When they get there, she’s sitting in the middle of her bed, and the throw blanket Amy had wrapped around her is halfway on the the end of the bed, halfway piled on the floor. Whether it had been shoved aside in her sleep or when she woke up Amy couldn’t say. Ella looks up at them when they appear in her doorway, bleary-eyed and pushing her hair out of her face, and then turns her gaze back to her lap. She blinks a few times and stretches her arms over her head, making a puppy-like whimpering sound that might just be cuter than any puppy Amy has ever seen.

“Sleep well, kiddo?” Jake says when her eyes look a little less blurry.

Ella glares at him. Honest to god _glares_. There’s not really any malice in the look, but more pure annoyance and irritation than Amy would’ve thought a preschooler could manage. It’s only a little funny. Jake looks slightly taken aback, and Amy stifles a laugh behind her hand. They definitely do not have a morning person on their hands.

When she finally does move, she shifts off her bed and picks up the discarded trash bag the little belongings she had other than clothes are still in. It’s only then that Amy finally remembers one of the gifts that had made its way into their home. She brushes past Jake into Ella’s room and opens up her closet door. It’s still pretty bare inside, so it’s not hard to locate the purple backpack sitting on the wire shelf. It’s small, but durable and practical. She smiles at the memory of Captain Holt handing it to her discreetly by her desk on Friday. He’d said he’d read that children don’t normally have any type of bag of their own, and he wanted to make sure Ella was well prepared. Inside there was a printed copy of the care instructions as well as a copy of _The Little Engine That Could_. Amy hadn’t asked him about the book, but it’s currently sitting on Ella’s bookshelf.

Amy emerges from the closet and holds out the backpack (care instructions also removed) to Ella.

“You can put your things in here if you want,” she says. Ella takes the bag from her with both hands and dumps out the contents of the trash bag, depositing each item into the brand new backpack. (Amy already can’t wait to tell Holt how eagerly Ella had taken to the bag.)

After the contents have been transferred, Ella shoves the trash bag to the side. It slides off the side of her bed, and Jake reaches down to pick it up before Amy can. He wads it up into a ball and disappears briefly to go throw it in the trash, not wanting anything to remind her or make her think she doesn’t “belong” here.

In the meantime, Ella takes a coloring book and an eight count box of crayons from her bag. She sets the backpack on the bed behind her and turns her attention to the book, flipping through the pages before laying it flat in front of her.

When Jake bounces back into the room, he grins when he sees the coloring book, taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to her.

“Can I color with you?” He asks.

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye and stays very still.

 _No_ , was what she was saying. That’s one thing they’ve learned so far—nodding is yes, no response has pretty consistently actually meant no.

Jake nods slowly. He leans away from her, his smile faltering only slightly.

Then he lifts his hand to brush her hair out of her face, and she physically shrugs off the brief contact.

He tries not to show it, he really clearly does, but the way he bites his lip and the way his shoulders slump says it. He is crushed, but Amy also knows it is beyond Ella not wanting him to touch her.

They both just want her to trust them. Amy can already feel the love she has for this little girl bubbling in her chest and wants desperately for her to understand that they want her here and want her to let them love her. She knows Jake wasn’t really upset _because_ Ella didn’t trust him, didn’t want him too close to her, because Amy knows he was thinking the same things she was. Ella has had no one give her a reason to trust them. Amy really has no idea what Ella’s life had looked like six months ago, but whatever it had been had come crashing down in an instant. Already her first foster family had deemed her “too much”, and now she is here. And it’s terrifying and unfamiliar for everyone, and she has no reason to believe that they’ll keep her around.

So she pushes them away. She doesn’t make eye contact and she doesn’t put her clothes with the clothes they’d bought her. She pushes aside the blanket she’d been tucked in with and shrugs off any attempt at physical contact.

It eats away at Amy’s heart, and the aching look in Jake’s eyes reflects it back to her. They both want so much more for this little girl than for her to live in fear of when she will have to leave again.

A knock on their front door startles her out of her thoughts. She looks at Jake for explanation, but he shakes his head. Neither of them are expecting anyone. He gets up to go answer it, but she waves him off. “I’ll get it,” she says, heading out of the room towards the front door.

She swings the door open to find a familiar face smiling at her, arms full of a huge casserole dish covered with tin foil.

“Charles!” she exclaims. “Um,” she stammers, glancing at Jake, who is now hovering in Ella’s doorway. He bites his lip, _not now_ , he mouths, and she nods in agreement, “now really isn’t the best time for a visit; it’s been kind of a rough day and—“

“Say no more,” Charles cuts her off. “Much as I’d love to meet your little angel, I’m not here for a visit. Genevieve and Nikolaj are home waiting for me to get back; I just wanted to come drop this off.” He hands her the dish and she takes it, only a little hesitant about what Charles may have deemed appropriate to cook for a child.

“It’s lasagna,” he continues, “nothing fancy, just completely traditional. Personally, I think it’s a little bland without the scallops, but I figured with the kid you don’t know what she’s been eating for the last few years or how advanced her pallet is. I decided better safe than _exquisite_ this time. Of course, in the future she’ll have uncle Charles to teach her all about fine din—“

“Charles!” She stops him. If him referring to Ella as their ‘little angel’ was enough to make her head spin, just the thought of introducing her to any of her eager “aunts” and “uncles” is really too much for her to consider right now.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, yes, just lasagna.”

She sighs, a wave of gratitude rushing over her. “Thank you so much, Charles. I was so focused on her getting here I hadn’t even thought as far as dinner tonight. I was honestly thinking about just getting Jake to go pick up McDonald’s.”

Boyle looks affronted at the mere thought of them eating McDonald’s for dinner. “Well I’m glad I could save you from _that_ ,” he visibly cringes, and she’d laugh if she weren’t so thankful for Jake’s best friend at this moment.

“Really,” she insists, “it means the world to us. And I promise as soon as Ella is ready we’ll let everyone meet her, it’s just…” she trails off, unsure of how to explain how it’s “just”.

“I understand, anything for my BB and his fam.” He finger-guns at her, and she can’t help the confused expression on her face.

“Best bud,” he clarifies. “Come on, people,” he shakes his head at her apparent cluelessness. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair, tell everyone I love them and I’ll see them soon.”

She smiles, “I will. Thank you again.”

He nods again and walks away. She shuts the door and is too relieved even to kick herself for not thinking about something as simple as dinner. The smell coming from the dish she’s carrying is enough to distract her from her own thoughtlessness.

They let Ella color for a while, and later she pulls out two little paper dolls from her bag as well. She plays silently, independently. Amy can’t help but wonder how long she’s been used to playing by herself.

A few hours later when they sit down at the dining room table, the lasagna ends up tasting even better than it smells. Even Ella scarfs it down in huge mouthfuls—a stark contrast to the way she’d nibbled on her sandwich earlier in the day. Amy makes a mental note to thank Charles profusely again the next time she sees him.

After they’ve all had their fill, Amy suggests over her shoulder while she washes the dishes that Ella might need to start getting ready for bed soon. Ella heads back to her room without a word, and Jake sighs, standing up and moving to Amy’s side to help her dry and put away the dinner dishes—a habit she’s instilled in him over the years that she can’t help but love, not just because it makes clean up easier, but it makes for one of those serene moments where she can relish in the fact that he’s her husband and this is their life.

On a normal day, that is.

 _Normally_ they play music and talk animatedly while they clean, but tonight they’re quiet, talking in low voices in a way that neither of them knows for sure is necessary, but are too nervous and afraid to change.

By the time they’ve finished cleaning, Amy goes to check on Ella and get her ready for bed, only to find her in her pajamas tucked up under her covers. The lights in her room are still on, but she’s curled up on her side facing the wall, little eyes tightly shut.

Amy’s breath catches in her throat as she watches her, maybe sleeping, just as likely pretending, and can’t help but think that they really are in over their heads. Nearly twelve hours and the little girl who their friends are calling their niece and chomping at the bits to meet hasn’t spoken a word to them. Try as she might to be optimistic, she’s terrified of the weeks and months and potentially years to come.

Tears sting her eyes as Jake appears over her shoulder. He lets out a deep breath and reaches across her to flip off Ella’s light, pulling the door shut after him. Wordlessly, he wraps Amy up in his arms, holding her tightly and pressing a kiss against her hair.

She wraps her arms around him too, her breath coming out shakier than she means for it to. He’s scared too, she knows he is, and all of the big and hard and confusing emotions coursing through their minds are almost too much to take—but there’s still something wholly comforting about being here with him.

They stay there like that, resting in each other’s embrace, for a long time. He’s relying on her just as much as she’s relying on him, and they’re both stronger in each other’s company, despite their own fears and overwhelming emotions being mirrored back at them.

When they do finally pull apart, they still don’t say anything. She takes his hand and tightly intertwines her fingers with his, leading him back to their room.

They go to bed early and, unlike the night before, drift off to sleep almost immediately. They’re both exhausted, mentally and emotionally, and they fall asleep with their fingers still laced together.

 

* * *

 

 

As the muffled grunts and whimpers lure Amy out of unconsciousness, her first thought is that it's Jake.

It's been several months since the last time she'd been woken up in the middle of the night to her husband shaking and mumbling nonsense in his sleep. Sometimes he'd grip her hand or she'd wake up suddenly to him frantically grabbing onto whatever part of her he could reach. He'd mutter her name over and over in his sleep, and continue to repeat it, softer and more clear, when she'd rub his arms and talk in a low voice until he woke up enough to register that she was here with him. That they were home and together and there was nothing keeping them apart.

The first time, he'd slipped out of bed when he thought she'd fallen asleep again and paced around their apartment. She'd laid in bed listening until she heard him lumbering around the kitchen, opening and shutting the fridge and pulling pans from cabinets. She'd drifted out of their bedroom, glancing around to find that he’d actually put away his coat and shoes in an effort to distract himself, and found him in the kitchen combining ingredients for pancakes. She’d watched curiously from the doorway as he whisked together the batter and poured it in the pan on the stove. He's a much better cook than she is, but even she could see that the batter was really only halfway mixed and the pancakes,overcooking on a stove set too high, still had pockets of dry flour in them.

She’d padded across their kitchen floor, gently taking the bowl of partially mixed pancake batter from his arms and setting it on the counter instead. In its place, she wrapped her arms around his middle, tucking her head under his chin. His arms had come, seemingly independent of his own muffled thoughts, to hold her against him.

"'m makin' pancakes," he'd mumbled sleepily against her hair.

She’d shaken her head. "Babe, it's not even 4 AM. Come back to bed."

She’d pulled away enough to look at him, against the will of his arms that didn't seem to want her anywhere but pressed up against his chest. Not that he had been in any state to put up much of a fight.

"Jake," she’d tried again, trying to will him to look at her, but his gaze had remained trained on the floor.

"I can't, Ames."

She’d taken a deep breath, nodding slowly, and extricated herself from his arms. Jake made a noise of protest, but no attempt to stop her. She tossed the lumpy, burned pancake in the trash before turning down the stove and mixing up the rest of the batter.

Together, they finished making and eating what, between the two of them, had turned out to be surprisingly edible pancakes. Neither of them spoke the whole time, not when Amy spilled batter of the counter or when Jake poured a mini waterfall of syrup on his pancake stack. Not while they washed the dishes or in the time it took to dry them and put them away. By the time they were done, the kitchen looked just as it had early that morning before they woke up.

They were curled up on the couch, Jake’s arm wrapped a little tighter than usual around her shoulders and her head tucked into the crook of his neck, when he finally started talking.

That was the first time she’d heard him talk about prison, like really talk about it. Not the stories shrouded in dark humor he’d told that night at Shaws or the comments he’d made in passing the same way he made comments about his dad. Her heart had ached for him then, wanting desperately to ask him to actually let it out, so maybe she could reach him.

She never had, choosing instead to let him decide when he finally opened up. And it was there, curled up on their couch while the sky out the window was still dark, that he finally did.

It was inarguably the most raw and vulnerable she’d ever seen him. His tone had been consistent as he relayed the events in “the big house” (as he still insisted on calling it), but his lip had trembled and his eyes had watered. He’d talked about how desperate and alone he’d felt, how he’d briefly thought he might actually be going insane during his week in solitary, the things he’d done—some he regretted, most he didn’t.

(“Why did you put yourself through all of that just to keep your phone? That was so dangerous!”

“You were the only thing keeping me going, Ames. It was worth the risk.”)

When he’d finished recounting some of the uglier stories, he finally got to tell her about some of the other books he’d read, admitting that most of them he’d chosen based purely on the fact that he’d heard her mention the titles before.

“I asked the prison librarian—doesn’t sound like the worst job ever? I mean really, prison librarian. Those guys aren’t interested in books unless they can turn them into some kind of weapon. I know, I saw them try. Anyway I asked her once what she thought my nerdy girlfriend would’ve read that would impress you.”

She’d flicked his arm for the ‘nerd’ comment, but hadn’t been able to help but smile softly at the way the light, happy undertone to his voice returned when he got off topic.

Finally, as the sun had started peeking through the window blinds and she could hear her the echo of her alarm just starting to go off in the other room, he’d shaken his head and, his voice was back to a lighthearted tone she recognized, said “Prison was a nightmare,” he paused, “ironically.”

She’d shaken her head at the awful joke, leaning forward to press a kiss against his mouth.

“But it’s over,” she’d whispered as she pulled away.

“Yeah,” he’d said softly. They both smiled and she stood up to go get ready for work. He never told her exactly what had happened in the dream that had awoken them both hours before. But the next time he woke up in the wee hours of the morning, he only stayed awake for an hour before drifting back to sleep. The next time after that, they woke up just enough for him to sit up and hug her tightly against him before they laid back down, her head still against his chest.

There are a few times, even as they become fewer and further in between, that he seems particularly distressed. On those nights, instead of drifting off again, they sit up talking before he’s comfortable enough to go to sleep again. One night she tells him in a hushed tone about how different it was at the precinct when he wasn’t there (“to bother me,” she adds, and he smirks at her knowingly). Another night, he recounts all the time he spent planning for the “Halloween heist” turned proposal. (“It all revolved around my girlfriend being smartest person in the universe and outsmarting everyone else, including me, so it’s a good thing you were on your A-game that night or who knows, maybe I just would’ve waited in the evidence lock-up all—” She kisses him, partly to shut him up and partly because she knows he’s secretly being sincere and she loves him for it.)

Most of the time, though, they wake up only enough for her to wake him from the dreams and for him to press a kiss to her forehead in thanks before they both drift off. Sometimes in the mornings she can’t be sure whether it even happened, but the way he catches her eye in the mirror while they’re getting ready and smiles softly is enough to convince her it must have.

Eventually they seem to taper off entirely. At this point, she can’t remember the last time they haven’t slept through the night.

Even still, she’s reaching for him on instinct before she’s fully awake when familiar sounds rouse her from her dreams. As her eyes flutter open, the first thing she registers is the clock on their bedside table that reads 2:23 am, and the second is that Jake is still fast asleep, dreaming peacefully.

The sounds persist though, and it’s another beat before she works out that they’re crackling out from the tiny video monitor right next to her alarm clock.

She reaches across Jake to grab the little screen, turning up the brightness and volume as her eyes adjust to the screen. The monitor had been a gift from Terry; he’d insisted that they needed to be able to check on her at night and they’d put up the camera more as a courtesy to him than because they’d thought they’d need it for their four-year-old. Now, as she watches the little girl down the hall toss and turn in her bed, whimpering and crying out in her sleep, she’s suddenly extremely grateful for friends who know a lot more about parenting than she does.

Jake stirs as soon as she turns the volume up, muttering and rubbing his eyes as he sits up and takes in the scene. His eyes land on the screen and he’s wide awake in a flash as he processes what’s happening.

He’s pushing back his covers before she’s even had time to consider what to do. She starts to get up too, but he sets a hand on her leg.

“Stay here, babe, I got this one.” His voice is surprisingly clear considering the hour, so she does as he says, her eyes returning to the screen in her hands.

He’s out the door and reappearing on the blurry screen in no more than five seconds. She watches as he settles himself on the edge of Ella’s bed, reaching out to gently brush away her hair where it was tangled in front of her face from her tossing and turning. Her movements still, her eyes fluttering open at his touch. As her eyes open, she looks around frantically before scrambling away from Jake, gripping her sheets and pressing herself into the corner where the edges of her bed meet the walls.

Amy can’t see Jake’s face, but he holds his hands up, not reaching to touch her but in an attempt to set her at ease as she eyes him warily.

“Hey.” His voice comes low and almost unintelligible through the small speaker and Amy can’t help herself; she turns the volume up again.

“You’re okay, it’s okay, you’re okay,” he repeats the mantra until Ella’s wide eyes start to calm and she loosens her death grip on the sheets between her tiny fingers.

Slowly, watching her the whole time, he moves to sit next to her on the bed. His hand lies between them, palm up, like a kid on their first date not wanting to make the first move. Ella stares at him as he moves and her gaze lands on his face as he settles next to her.

“Bad dreams?” he asks simply. She nods, her eyes falling to her lap.

“I get bad dreams sometimes too,” he says, and it’s hard to tell whether she responds in any way, but he continues. “It’s the worst, right? Because you feel all scared and alone and there’s no one there to hold your hand.”

Her head turns slightly to stare at his hand on her bed between them, and her little fingers let go of the sheets to reach out and trace the lines of his palm.

“They’re just dreams,” he says. They’re both watching as her fingers run up and down his palm, before finally settling. He closes his fingers around hers, and Amy fights back the tears in her eyes so she can continue watching the scene play out.

“They’re real,” Amy almost misses the tiny voice. It’s the first time they’ve heard her speak since she arrived 18 hours before.

Jake shakes his head. “Not anymore,” he says firmly. It’s not something Amy would’ve thought to say, but she recalls Jake telling her at one point that most of his nightmares are nothing more than memories of events he’d much rather forget. In that moment, Amy is really glad that it’s Jake in that room right now instead of her, because he understands the thoughts running through the little girl’s brain right now better than Amy ever could.

“Ella,” he whispers. She finally looks up at the sound of her name. “You’re not alone. We’ll never let you be alone again. Okay?”

She nods and sniffles. Amy can’t tell from the screen, but she imagines there are tears on the little girl’s face, given the way Jake uses his free hand to brush his thumb across her cheekbone. Ella startles them both (Amy can tell by the way Jake’s shoulders jerk slightly) when she turns and buries her face in his arm. Jake cradles the back of her head with his hand and ducks his head so it’s closer to hers. Amy can see his lips moving, but with the blurry screen even she can’t tell what he’s saying. Ella nods against his arm, pulling away and moving back to lay her head against the pillow again.

Jake stays where he is at the head of her bed, stroking Ella’s forehead rhythmically, until she falls asleep again. He eases his way off her bed and moves quietly out of the room, tucking the door closed silently.

He reappears in their doorway moments later, and Amy doesn’t even try to pretend that she hadn’t been watching the whole interaction. Her eyes flit up to his briefly before landing back on the screen. He moves across the room, settling back on the bed next to her. They both sit there silently, watching the little girl sleep peacefully for another few minutes.

By the time Jake takes the monitor from her hands and sets it back on the bedside table, their alarm clock reads 3:01 am. They both have the next day off; Jake will go back to work at the precinct on Thursday, but tomorrow they’ll have the day to themselves.

Amy hopes, despite herself, that maybe this little break in their night will make for a more encouraging day tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i am aware that the part with the princess doll house is basically exactly what happened w terry in season 1 but i has forgotten about it when i wrote it and honestly couldn’t be bothered to change it ok. 
> 
> if you’re up to it pls leave a comment i live for validation and i haven’t written any of part 3 yet so i need motivation.
> 
> also this is significantly longer than i expected it to be??? like this isn’t even half of what i have planned. it might go from 3 parts to 5 plus an epilogue but we’ll see

**Author's Note:**

> so i honestly totally forgot about jake and his lady drug dealer from season 4 when i wrote that bit so sorry for accidental plagiarism we'll just say it was a reference bc i was too lazy to edit it out
> 
> catch me on tumblr @captamysantiago


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